“Did I?” he asked. “And could your way never have been my way? I suppose not.”
“Why should it?” she said. “I am a separate being.”
“But surely two people sometimes go the same way,” he said.
“You took me away from myself,” she said.
He knew he had mistaken her, had taken her for something she was not. That was his fault, not hers.
“And did you always know?” he asked.
“No—you never let me know. You bullied me. I couldn’t help myself. I was glad when you left me, really.”
“I know you were,” he said. But his face went paler, almost deathly luminous.
“Yet,” he said, “it was you who sent me the way I have gone.”
“I!” she exclaimed, in pride.